


Blood To Ashes

by ShriiekMansiion



Category: Sally Face - Fandom
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Cult Initiation, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Murder, Kenneth is a manipulative fuckhead, Oneshot, Other, like this could qualify for a young writers contest short, short oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:55:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23663491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShriiekMansiion/pseuds/ShriiekMansiion
Summary: I dunno I had this idea when I was teaching my brother how to use a boffer for stage combat
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Blood To Ashes

The adrenaline had him lightheaded. 

There was blood on his hands. There was blood _everywhere_.

“Impressive..” Came a voice from behind him, temporarily stalling the ringing in his ears, “You did well. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

He felt sick. The metallic stench was nauseating, hardly helping the dizziness rattling his head.

He was horrified with himself. This was murder. Cold blooded, senseless murder. Yet, he was laughing? But there were tears running down his face.. crying? He couldn’t tell, he was seeing stars, struggling to bite back the urge to throw up.

Maybe it was a good thing he couldn’t see past the tears, he was hardly able to focus on the body as he tried to blink away the vertigo.

“Well, Travis? What do you have to say for yourself?” His father encouraged, placing a hand on his shoulder to steady the shaking boy.

He struggled with the words, his breath catching in his throat as he tried to speak. He gave a weak laugh, stumbling despite his stationary stance and groping at his necklace until he gripped the charm.

“Lord, have mercy..” he choked out, collapsing back into the arms of whoever had caught him.

  
  
  


It was dark when he awoke in his own bed, disoriented and dizzy. 

He had been in the basement of the church. That much he could remember. But now he was here.

There was dried blood under his nails, and he felt sick to his stomach. There was a glass of water on his bedside table, his clothes neatly folded with the crucifix necklace his mother had given him placed on top of it.

Funny. He didn’t remember changing into his pajamas.

Sitting up on weak, shaky arms, he reached for the necklace, moving to hook it back around his neck, holding the seemingly freshly polished cross in a fist,

He held it tightly for a moment, laying back down once he felt a bit more secure with a sigh. 

Maybe it was all just a nightmare. He was seeing things. Some fucked up fever dream and it’s remnants.

“Travis?” His father’s voice came from behind the door, accompanied by a soft knock. “Are you awake yet?”

He gave a soft, instinctive hum in response, making himself comfortable in bed once again. 

His father took that as invitation enough to enter, humming the tune to some hymn that Travis couldn’t remember the name to and placing a hand on his forehead.

“How are you feeling? That was a nasty fall..”

“Dizzy..” he replied hoarsely, “Sick..”

“Get a drink and rest up. You deserve it.”

He gave another hum, burying his face into his pillow. “Thank you, Father..” he mumbled, flinching slightly when his father stroked his hair.

“Do you want anything to eat?” His father asked softly, Travis shaking his head.

“I don’t think I could stomach it..”

“Alright.” He replied, standing. “Rest up. You did well.”

The words made his stomach turn worse, and he desperately tried to block out his father’s sickly sweet humming as he left. 


End file.
